


Mutually Exclusive, Collectively Exhaustive

by whimsicottly



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: A Series of Vignettes, BASICALLY: Ignis has a crush on prompto, DO I EVER WRITE FIC THAT ISN'T SELF-INDULGENT?, M/M, but prompto thinks ignis hates him :~(, connected by campfire dilemma time with prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicottly/pseuds/whimsicottly
Summary: “Give it to me straight. Does Ignis hate me?”“Yep,” Noctis says.“Wait, what?!” Prompto struggles to not fall out of his chair. It takes him a second to recompose himself. “I mean, of course! I knew that.”“That explains why he watches out for you in battle, takes the time to learn about your interests, and makes excuses to spend time with you,” Noctis, the traitor, continues. “Good job figuring it out.”“When you put it that way… “





	Mutually Exclusive, Collectively Exhaustive

**Author's Note:**

> SO much fic about prompto being a bumbly idiot when he's crushing on someone. and it's all good, it's all good, but man... what about ignis? i bet ignis is a dumbass too, but it's subtler... he's a dumbass but he doesn't seem like a dumbass. i love that guy so much.
> 
> here's campfire dilemma time with prompto, please enjoy. 
> 
> additionally: no beta we die like mne,

The fire at the center at the haven crackles, and warms those around it. The quiet night blankets the world with a swathe of stars. The local fauna prepare to go sleep, as the daemons appearify and begin their hunt for the night. All is calm, quiet, and right.

 

All is calm, quiet, and right, save for one (1) Prompto Argentum, that is. To him, all is discordant, unruly, and wrong.

 

“Guys,” He whispers. Gladiolus and Noctis aren’t sitting too far away from him, but he intends to keep his voice low enough so that the fourth member of their party cannot hear him. “I think Ignis hates me.”

 

“What?” Gladiolus snorts at that, clearly amused. “Why?”

 

Noctis raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look up from his phone.

 

“Well, I mean…” Prompto struggles to find the words. Letting out a sigh, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, ready to tell his trusted friends all his completely rational justifications that led to this conclusion.

 

“Have you seen him this past week? At all?” He says, sure to keep his voice low. Ignis is about 5, 6 feet behind them, preparing dinner. He’s easily out of earshot, but Prompto can never be too safe. “Just the other day he was sticking to me in battle. I don’t wanna say he was trying to show off, but…”

 

Another sigh. “I dunno. Maybe show me how it’s done, or whatever. Trying to test me.” He looks visibly distraught, clearly having given this a considerable amount of thought. “It’s weird.”

 

Gladiolus leans forward on his knees as well, mirroring Prompto’s position. Noctis, who sits in the Coleman™ chair between them, remains still, tapping away at his phone. “Really?”

 

* * *

 

 

Prompto is _not_ having a hard time with a few measly anak calves. Of course he’s not. They’re anak _calves._ Sure, they’ve still got big horns and long necks, but they’re _babies._ He’s not having any trouble at all.

 

That probably isn’t what it looks like to _anyone else,_ though. _Anyone else_ being Ignis, of course. To him, Prompto surely looks like the prime example of someone who is struggling. Open the _Crownsguard Training Manual_ to the _Providing Quick Aid To Civilians_ section, and under “How To Tell Someone Is Losing A Fight” is a picture of Prompto in this exact moment. That’s probably what Ignis thinks.

 

That, or something along those lines, certainly. Definitely not “Prompto has absolutely got this in the metaphorical bag, and I do not need to double backflip-roundhouse kick a small anak in the face to save him,” for sure, because that’s exactly what he does. It’s totally, completely badass, and he punctuates the move with a thrust of his spear to the neck of the calf.

 

To further the badassery of the move, Ignis sticks the landing, and turns his head to face Prompto behind him, who is on the ground.

 

“Eyes forward, Prompto.” He says, nonchalantly, as if it isn’t the coolest one-liner in the world right now, and also the most painful sentence to hear after getting his ass secondhandedly handed to him.

 

“Yeah.” Prompto says in reply. He gets up. He did _not_ need to be saved. He totally had that! He’s strong, and capable, and more than willing to shoot an anak in the face. Was all that show from Ignis really necessary?

 

 _It’s probably nothing. Just a one-time thing_ , Prompto thinks. They’ve all had their disgraceful moments. _That, or he doesn’t think I’m competent enough to handle myself in battle, and he’s resorted to having to keep two of his four eyes on me at all times, and save me whenever I look like I’m struggling. No big deal._

This is not going to be a problem.

 

* * *

 

 

“Uh, _yeah really,”_ Prompto says, shaking his head to emphasize his point. Gladiolus has actually got a smile on his face, and not a friendly one. It’s more of a _you know so little and are so amusing_ kind of smile. Prompto is determined to show him that he _does, in fact,_ know.

 

“Then after that, when we pulled into town, we went shopping together!” He exclaims, yet is still careful to keep his voice low.

 

“Shopping.” Noctis deadpans. From where he’s sitting, in between Prompto and Gladiolus, he’s got the perfect distance between them both that makes it so he doesn’t need to lean forward to hear, or to be heard.

 

“You don’t get it,” Prompto sighs.

 

* * *

 

 

“Prompto,” Ignis calls. His arms are full with three paper bags, a result of their latest excursion to restock their supply of curatives.

 

“On it!” Prompto catches up to Ignis, takes the bag that is handed to him, and upon realizing just how heavy it is, promptly tries not to visibly die on the spot.

 

He looks at Ignis who is actually _smiling_ at him. “Thank you,” Ignis says, and Prompto can’t tell if he’s being sincere or what, but he knows for sure that Ignis is a genius.

 

 _This must still be a test_ , Prompto thinks. It’s different now though, and much more difficult – He’s been trapped with societal convention. If he backs out now, he’s gonna look even weaker, _and_ like a total douchebag for having Ignis carry _three bags._

 

He smiles back at Ignis. Looking down into the contents of the bag to check what’s making it so damn heavy, Prompto sees it’s full of potions. Ouch. Potions. Like the ones he constantly uses in-battle. Ignis is clearly guilt-tripping him here.

 

(Of course, he could just be overthinking this. They haven’t restocked in a while, and it isn’t like Noct and Gladio don’t use potions, too – )

 

Alas. The writing is on the wall, but Prompto isn’t giving up. 

 

 “Hey, let me take the other one, too.”

 

“Ever reliable,” Ignis says, expression softening. “Are you certain?” he asks. Is he doubting Prompto? He can’t be. Maybe just giving him an out. 

 

Prompto persists anyway. “It’s the least I could do for you!” He says with a smile, taking one of the remaining bags Ignis is carrying. It’s just as heavy, if not more, as the first one. Prompto is probably going to die like this, right here, but he’s glad he’s impressed Ignis.

 

Ignis smiles back, and Prompto feels something in his chest. The bags in his arms feel weightless, if just for a second. …The joy of receiving Ignis’ approval, perhaps? Yes. Maybe. No, surely. That, and nothing else.

 

Definitely not a problem.

 

* * *

 

 

“I mean…” Prompto fidgets with his wristbands. “Don’t get me wrong! I would’ve helped him either way,”

 

“We believe you,” Gladiolus interjects, amusement still hanging around the corners of his tone.

 

“But why can’t he trust me? He’s clearly testing me!” Prompto lets his head hang for a few moments, ashamed and just plain tired. “I respect that guy so much.” He whispers, like it’s a secret.

 

“You’re looking into this too much,” Gladiolus tells him, reaching over to give him a supportive pat on the shoulder. “Sometimes, it’s better to take things at face value.”

 

“No,” Prompto whispers, looking up to make eye contact with him. “He’s testing my intelligence too,”

 

Noctis just outright _laughs_ at that, not even trying to hide how he’s much enjoying this. Not enough to actually but the phone down, though. Prompto briefly wonders what he’s even doing on there.

 

“I find that hard to believe.” Gladiolus tells him, pulling him from his thoughts.

 

“Listen,”

 

* * *

 

 

“Care for some coffee?”

 

Prompto looks up from his work, having to blink a few times to adjust to the light. He’s been staring at the dismantled parts of his gun for so long, looking at anything else hurts his corneas. He tries to adjust his position on the floor so that he can look up at Ignis properly, but he’s been sitting for so long that one of his legs has fallen asleep, and moving it would feel like unleashing 20,000,000 tiny ants into his blood vessels. He moves it anyway, and swallows down the discomfort.

 

“No thanks,” He tiredly smiles up at Ignis, who is standing above him. “I’m almost done anyway.”

 

“Very well,” says Ignis. Instead of walking away and retiring into the tent, though, he takes a seat next to Prompto on the floor of the haven.

 

Prompto feels a slight sense of self-consciousness as he feels Ignis’ gaze upon him. What is he trying to do? Test how well he can clean his _guns_?

 

He tries to ignore it, and focus on cleaning his gun, instead. It’s a bit trickier than the rest, since it’s got magic ice infused in its barrel, but at the very least, it’s easier than the Flame Gun, for obvious reasons.

 

“It’s best to alternate between brushes,” Ignis says, suddenly.

 

“Hm?” Prompto looks to him, and he looks confident as ever, but with another emotion underlying. He’s… unsure? No. Definitely not. It’s something else, he just can’t tell what. It’s not an expression Ignis wears often, though, that’s for sure. More interestingly, though, is that he’s trying to hide it.

 

(He’s probably trying to hide how he thinks Prompto can’t do this one thing that he’s been doing consistently for this entire trip well enough. That’s definitely it. Prompto is sure of this.)

 

Ignis doesn’t skip a beat when given the chance to elaborate. “Alternating between the bore brush and the cleaning rod rather than using one after the other cleans it more thoroughly.” He says, gesturing to the brushes in question.

 

“Oh, I get’cha,” Prompto says, still struggling with the shock that Ignis knows more than he does when it comes to guns. _Guns!_ But then again, what else did he expect? The guy’s perfect.

 

“If I may,” Ignis says, gesturing towards the barrel in Prompto’s hand.

 

“Sure, but…” Prompto looks down at it, and slowly hands it to him. “Be careful. It’s – “

 

“Infused with ice magic. I’m aware.” Ignis says, handling the piece with so much care. He begins using the bore brush on it, a bit too delicately, like he’s afraid he might be wrong, but intends to try anyway. “Cocytus is quite the weapon.”

 

“Yeah.” Prompto watches him, in not-so-subtle awe of how he handles it. “Um. How’d you know?”

 

“It would be remiss if I did not.” Ignis answers without taking his eyes off the task. He makes it sound like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

 

“Oh.” Prompto replies, unable to think of anything else to say.

 

After a few minutes, Ignis hands the piece back to Prompto, who begins to rebuild the gun and have it ready for use come tomorrow. He can already tell that its performance will be even better than before, thanks to Ignis’ guidance.

 

“Here,” Ignis says, handing him a cloth. “Luster, to give it an extra finish.”

 

“Thanks,” Prompto takes the cloth and wipes the gun down once, already seeing the results.

 

“Of course.”

 

This _might_ be a problem.

 

* * *

 

 

“– and then he was like, ‘ _I’m always glad to be of help, Prompto!_ ’, like, ugh,” Prompto says, as loud as he can permit himself considering the fact that Ignis is standing _right there._

 

Gladiolus tries to intervene. “I really don’t think – “

 

“ ‘ _You know I only want the best for you. Make sure to get enough rest. If you ever need any more help, don’t hesitate to ask,’_ “ Prompto imitates Ignis’ accent almost perfectly. “ _What?_ He totally beats me at my own game, _then_ expresses concern for my wellbeing? He’s making me look like a _tool_!“ He whisper-cries.

 

Prompto hangs his head once more, no longer finding the strength to look up. “He does so much for the team, always works so hard, _and_ goes out of his way to help me out?” He sighs, dramatically. “I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so much.”

 

“You serious?” Noctis snorts in amusement at that. Prompto looks up, attempting to glare at him, but he _still_ hasn’t put down his phone.

 

“ _Yeah._ But I’m glad you’re getting a kick out of my misery, buddy,” He says anyway, with as much malice as he can, considering both how miserable he is at the moment, and that Noct is his best friend and he can never have any real malice towards him.

 

“I think you’re in denial,” Gladiolus says slowly, sitting up properly. If he’s being honest with himself, he can’t quite put into words how dumb and dense Prompto is being right now.  

 

“Uh, no? In denial of _what_?” Prompto mirrors his position to show how not in denial he is. “ _You’re_ in denial.”

 

“Sure,” Gladiolus replies, with that _smile_ again, “But I’m just saying, I know you know Ignis well enough to see what’s really happening here.”

 

“No! Nope, he’s an enigma.” Prompto denies, in the most _not in-denial_ tone he can muster. “You haven’t even heard the worst of it yet,”

 

* * *

 

 

“Would you mind helping me with the dishes, Prompto?”

 

“Ah,” Prompto rights himself, suddenly conscious of just how much he had been slouching. Noctis and Gladiolus are outside the caravan, likely raiding his castle in King’s Knight at this very moment. Ignis is standing at the doorway, dishes in hand. They had opted for an _Ignis Original Dinner_ tonight rather than eating out at the Crow’s Nest, because who says they can’t have soft beds _and_ a home-cooked meal? As a result, though, dishes had to be done.

 

“Sure thing! Just gimme a sec,” Prompto gets up from where he’s seated on the bed, and makes his way towards Ignis. He takes the plates, and deposits them at the kitchenette.

 

Prompto’s movements are calculated while trying to discern what Ignis is trying to get by asking him to do this. He stands behind the sink, weighing all the options against each other. Ignis doesn’t need the help, definitely. He barely ever does, yet he still asks for it? So, why –

 

His train of thought is interrupted when he feels Ignis’ shoulders bump against his. “I’ll soap, you rinse.” Ignis says. Prompto is suddenly aware of just how little space there is in the kitchenette, and even more aware of how the lack of space doesn’t feel suffocating for once, but cozy, like he fits.

 

“Yeah,” He manages to get out. “I can do that.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re just grabbing at straws now. There’s no room for misinterpretation on that one.” Gladiolus looks him dead in the eye, and the way he says it makes it sound more like a threat.

 

“Nope. He’s keeping me on my toes,” Prompto nods, in agreement with himself. “I don’t mind the extra work! I even enjoy it, but you can see that he’s clearly personally victimizing me.”

 

Gladiolus, no longer willing to partake in this endless downward spiral, just gives him a _look_.

 

Prompto looks away. “You agree with me, right, Noct?” He says, turning towards Noctis, who he _knows_ would be ever at his side.

 

“Give it to me straight. Does Ignis hate me?”

 

“Yep,” Noctis says.

 

“Wait, what?!” Prompto struggles to not fall out of his chair. It takes him a second to recompose himself. “I mean, of course! I knew that.”

 

“That explains why he watches out for you in battle, takes the time to learn about your interests, and makes excuses to spend time with you,” Noctis, _the traitor,_ continues. “Good job figuring it out.”

 

 “When you put it _that_ way… “

 

“There’s no other way to put it,” Gladiolus says, finally, crossing his arms. “You’re just kidding yourself.”

 

“Alright, fine,” Prompto says in defeat, “My _brain_ is telling me that everything’s alright, but my _anxiety,_ on the other hand, well, – “

 

 “When has listening to your anxiety ever been a good idea?”

 

“You got me there, Gladio,”

 

“Dinner,” Ignis’ voice rings like a bell from where he’s standing around 5, 6 feet away. “Do stop bickering before it gets cold.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **Noctis:** yeah he’s preeeeeetty sold on the theory that u hate him

 **Noctis:** talk to him after dinner, pls.

 **Noctis:** its been so painful to watch :[

 **Noctis:** i dont think i can take any more of this.

 

Ignis looks over all the texts Noctis had sent him over the course of the night as the team prepares to retire. Dinner has long since been over with, and Noctis is already inside the tent, likely asleep by now, while Gladiolus marks his page on the book he’s reading, intending to sleep as well.

 

Prompto, however, remains in his seat. Not exactly fidgeting, but not staying still, either.

 

He approaches Prompto from behind.

 

“May I speak with you in private?” He says, quiet enough so that only Prompto could hear him.

 

“Ah – “ Prompto near _squeaks_ in his surprise. “Sure,” He practically jumps up from his seat, flighty yet stiff with nervousness at the same time.

 

 _This is it,_ Prompto thinks to himself. _He’s gonna tell me that I’m a liability to the team, and that he hates me._

The pair make their way towards the kitchenette, away from anyone else.

 

“I’m not sure if you’re aware,” Ignis starts, once they reach the sink, “but the distance between here to the center of the haven is barely even five feet. And I have functioning ears.”

 

It’s not necessarily a lie. Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to make out the entire conversation on his own. Noctis was texting him the whole time, but Prompto doesn’t need to know that.

 

“Oh.” Prompto says, not entirely sure what to make of the information at first. “ _Oh._ Oh shit – “ He says once more, when it clicks. His eyes meet Ignis’ for a second, before he ducks his head to avoid any eye contact. “ _I’m so sorry_ ,”

 

“You have no need to apologize.” Ignis says. “I understand my actions may not have been entirely straightforward, but I assure you, Prompto, that I do not hate you.”

 

“…Really?” Prompto says slowly, initiating eye contact once more. “Not even after that?”

 

“Not even after that,” Ignis echoes, smiling to illustrate his point.

 

“So… if you don’t hate me then why,” Prompto stumbles over his own words. “What…”

 

Ignis’ expression softens at that, knowing full well that Prompto knows the answer to that question.

 

“Since you’re here, would you care to help me with the dishes?” He asks.

 

“Oh.” Prompto replies, and Ignis can _hear_ the blush creeping up on his face. “Sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed the adventures of prompto "does not understand social cues" argentum and ignis "WHAT'S FLIRTING? MAKING THEM DO THE GROCERIES" scientia. pls lemme know what u think!!!
> 
> twitter: whimsicottly  
> tumblr: bismuthllie


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